


Dreams Really Do Come True

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Martin and Lewis, US Comedians RPF
Genre: Dream Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 10:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: 1949Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin are on tour, sharing a hotel room.Jerry wakes in the middle of the night after an intense dream heavily featuring his partner.





	Dreams Really Do Come True

Jerry awoke in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding out of his chest and he could feel its pulse throbbing in his temple. As the noise of the blood rushing in his ears subsided, he listened for the sound of his partner sleeping in the adjacent bed. Hearing Dean’s familiar breathing always went some ways to calming him. 

He stared at the ceiling, his sleep paralysis having not yet left him. It wasn’t so bad these days. He’d managed to train himself by now not to try to fight it. Just stay still. Think about something. Ignore the shadows dancing menacingly in the corners of his vision.

Jerry tried to conjure up thoughts of last night’s gig. It had been a good one. The crowd were receptive and seemed to love every new thing they tried on them.

As more snatches of his most recent dream came back to him, it became harder to focus on remembering the previous day. He couldn’t keep the remnants of his dream from encroaching on his mind. Flashes of images and sounds, at once comfortably familiar, and terrifyingly foreign.

A familiar deep drawl sounding in his ear - comfortable. That voice articulating dark desires - terrifying. Jerry still didn’t want to risk trying to move, knowing that an attempt that failed would send his body and brain into a tailspin of paralysed fear. As his brain replayed the sights and sounds, he could feel his cock firming up against the front of his shorts.

Images of a handsome, tanned face, open with an affectionate expression – achingly familiar. That face tracking hungrily down his body – terrifyingly foreign. Jerry’s mind focussed on Dean’s lips. They had first quirked up in an indulgent smile as he’d laid above Jerry, then had descended onto his chest. Kissing, licking, biting. 

Jerry lay there motionless, his breathing laboured. He wasn’t going to risk heading to the bathroom. Dean was a very light sleeper and the last thing he’d want is to wake him and be seen like this.

Willing his erection away wasn’t going to work. The more he tried not to think about Dean’s voice or lips or hands on his body, the more all-consuming that very idea became.

So much so that as he weighed up his options in his mind, he felt the ghost of the touch from the dream. Those large hands, pressing him down into the bed, holding him still. Making him feel safe. He shuddered to think what he might be able to feel if he actively concentrated.

It wasn’t just that the dream had been about Dean. He’d had dreams like that about men before. It was how Dean had acted in the dream. Dean had taken such good care of him. Laid him out on the bed and covered every inch of his skin in kisses and love bites.

Dean’s hand, when it had finally wrapped around his cock, had completely enveloped it. It had been warm and large and strong and Jerry was weak. He could smell his own arousal. When he inhaled deeply, it mixed intoxicatingly with the scent from the next bed that was the heady combination of Dean and Woodhue.

Carefully, Jerry reached his right hand inside his shorts and took hold of his cock, silently lamenting that his own hand was just not good enough. Hand too small, fingers too slender. None of the power and strength of Dean’s hand.

Still, it would have to do. Their room didn’t have curtains and he could see the sky lightening with the early dawn. He didn’t have long, and he would rather die than have Dean see him in this state.

His hand tightened on his dick, squeezing the tip, hand sliding over the head, slippery with precome. Thankful for the state his dream had left him in, he used the advantage to slide his fist up and down his length. 

Stealth was his main objective. He couldn’t afford to make any noise and the cheap nylon sheets rustled far too loudly for his liking.

Jerry bit his lip hard as he jerked himself off as quietly as possible. He wasn’t used to making no noise at all, but even more mortifying than the prospect of Dean waking and him having an erection, was Dean waking to him masturbating.

He chanced a glance over at Dean and saw the man’s face in repose. Mouth slightly open, gently snoring. His brow was slightly furrowed and Jerry found himself wanting to reach out a hand to smooth it over, to soothe whatever was causing Dean consternation in his dream.

His cock throbbed in need of attention and so he refocussed. There really wasn’t any time left, and the longer he waited, the more likely he was to be caught. The thought gave him pause, and he didn’t want to inspect that feeling at all. The feeling that maybe he wanted to be caught. Maybe he wanted Dean to catch him with his fist around his cock. To see him struggling to keep quiet and cover Jerry's mouth with his own, swallowing his cries.

That was what dream Dean had done. Covered his body, covered his mouth, a big Dean-shaped blanket. A Dean-shaped blanket who had just started rubbing up against him at the point he’d awoken suddenly. 

Jerry thought back to the dream memory of Dean’s hand around him and his mind took it from there. Dean’s mouth had been right next to his ear. 

_“You like that?"_

The dream Jerry had moaned in abandon, but all Jerry could do here was bite the knuckles of his left hand while moving his right hand quicker over his length.

He was thinking back on how Dean had been kissing him. So different from his kisses with women. Dean had taken the kisses _from_ him. Pressed his lips against Jerry’s firmly, sucked on his tongue, taken his bottom lip between his teeth.

My God, when Dean had sucked on Jerry’s tongue, a dark promise of what he might do elsewhere with the right encouragement, Jerry had been sure he was going to come then and there. 

Jerry’s hand started flying faster over his cock, his fantasy taking over. Dean would hold him tight, tighter than he holds himself. Would drawl into his ear how much he wanted to taste him. To suck him. One day, maybe, to fuck him. Each phrase would be punctuated by a firm tug on his cock.

Jerry was so close.

His eyes were shut against the early morning light. He focussed on the Dean Martin in his mind, jerking him off, moaning about how much he wanted, no, needed to fuck him. That’s right, Dean Martin needed Jerry Lewis. 

The thought pulled the orgasm from Jerry. Dean needing to fuck him. His voice would break on that plea, groaning desperately into his ear.

Jerry tightened his fist as he milked out the last of his orgasm. He laid there a few moments longer, physical exhaustion setting in. His eyes were closed as his breathing evened out.

He turned on his side away from Dean. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to be able to face him in the morning.

As he started settling on his side, Jerry heard a pointed cough. The blush that graced his cheeks was apparent even in the dim light.

Jerry figured obliviousness was the best course of action. He left his right hand inside his shorts, his come starting to cool on his skin. Moving it now would be too obvious.

Slowly, he turned his head towards Dean.

“Morning, Paul.” Jerry adopted the most cheerful tone he could muster. One that hopefully didn’t reflect the fact that he was still in the afterglow of a rather frantic bout of automanipulation.

“Morning, Jerry. You been up for a while then?” Jerry didn’t like how intense his own reaction was to the sly smile from Dean. It could have been the angle at which he was facing Dean, but that look was far too knowing. Jerry’s mind warred between hope that Dean had seen and been affected by his moment of weakness, and mortification that he’d been seen to be indulging in such an inappropriate setting. He was constantly trying to prove to Dean that he was a man now, not the skinny teenager he had been when they’d first met. Jerking off in the dead of night in the bed next to him wasn’t really what he’d had in mind to demonstrate this growth and maturity.

“You – You saw that?” There was no hope in feigning ignorance now. While Dean’s gaze was directed at the ceiling, Jerry surreptitiously removed his hand from his shorts, wiping it on the sheet.

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice was measured. He wasn’t giving anything away. 

Jerry found himself in urgent need of reassurance. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean didn’t sound angry, but Jerry knew that the man kept his cards close to his chest. He potentially wouldn’t even find out until weeks or months later if there really was a problem.

“I dunno – I just don’t want it to be awkward.” Jerry was now lying on his left side facing Dean, trying to gauge the man’s emotional state from his expressions. 

“I don’t know why you’d think it would be awkward.”

At that, Dean turned to lie flat on his back. Jerry’s eyes widened comically as he saw the thin sheet covering Dean tented noticeably above his crotch.

“Um.” Jerry commented eloquently.

“I guess you’re all taken care of by now.” Dean spoke slowly, each word deliberate. “We could take care of each other in the future if you’d like?”

Jerry was speechless. He didn’t trust his voice or his words, so he simply bounded from his bed to Dean’s, covering his body and peppering his face with kisses.

He heard Dean groan gutturally as he rubbed up against his hard length through the sheet.

He felt Dean’s hands grasp his upper arms, holding him up and creating a short distance between them so they could see each other’s faces.

Those casual displays of strength always caused Jerry to go weak at the knees and this time was no exception.

Dean chuckled, “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Jerry’s face broke out into an open, joyous smile as he looked down at Dean. Dean’s face was the picture of contentment. The furrow in his brow from when he was asleep was gone. His eyes were bright, and he was panting slightly. Dean thrust upwards against Jerry, almost dislodging him.

“Hey!” Jerry admonished.

“Hey, yourself.”

“You want I should take care of this for ya?” Jerry said in a voice slightly higher than his own.

Dean chuckled again, “Yes, Jer. I want you should take care of this.”

“Oh boy!” Jerry exclaimed. Flinging himself onto the man below him once more, he captured Dean’s lips in a kiss. 

This was not like any of their stage kisses. This was not like any of the occasional jubilant kisses they would share briefly in private after a successful show or in excited greeting. This kiss was deep, full of meaning and Jerry tried to pour into it all of his love and affection.

He felt Dean’s strong arms wrap around him, holding him tight. For the first time in a long time, Jerry felt like he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> I own only a guitar and pen; and the guitar is borrowed.
> 
> These are fictional depictions of real people. Please don't sue me.


End file.
